Yule Ball Jitters and other drabbles
by treeson
Summary: Short drabbles, prompted by various people. If you'd like to see a prompt, just PM me. I'll consider all ships or just one character.
1. Yule Ball

_AN: Special thanks to A.Renika, a very great beta._

_As you already know, nothing belongs to me except plots and the rest belongs to JKR. Don't sue me._

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Draco straightened his dress robes with a scowl. Well, tried to, at any rate. His shaking fingers and inability to get a grip on the silver buttons had him one frustrated Slytherin. The door opened for the fourth time that evening and he stopped entirely. He wouldn't be able to do anything -- much less focus on the stupid, tiny, irritating, blasted buttons -- until he _knew_, so it was no use pretending.

He turned to look at Blaise.

The black boy leaned against the dormitory door and raised a perfect eyebrow at the look Draco sent him when he wasn't immediately forthcoming. _Damn his ability to be so cavalier when __**he**__ was a nervous wreck!_

"Well?" he finally snapped, not in the mood to play Zabini's frivolous games when his future was at stake. _At least it felt that way. If what she said was true…_

Blaise pushed off the door, his own dress robes making him look in control and charming and sophisticated and everything Draco _couldn't_ be until he _knew_.

"She's not in the entrance hall, date or no. No Gryffindor girls know where she is either."

Draco breathed a sigh of relief and half-heartedly glared at Blaise when he had the gall to smirk at his obvious happiness that she hadn't been seen.

_Probably hiding in her dormitory, reading a book and rethinking her decision to turn me down._

_Poor girl. Thinking she has to play hard to get with __**me**_

He turned back to the mirror and started straightening his robes humming a little.

His hands did not shake.

**Finite.**


	2. Blue Shoes, a White Dress

"Shoes, shoes, shoes. Where are my shoes?"

Thump, thump, thump, thump as she threw the shoes left and right. Heels, flats, sandals.

"Where are you sneaky little…?"

Thump, thump, thump. Loafers, slippers, and a pair of pumps she hadn't seen in a year.

"I know you're here, you little buggers…"

Thump, thump. Trainers and flip-flops.

"Hermione, what are you doing?"

"Looking for those sodding blue…"

A pause.

"Are you wearing my heels, Draco?"

**Finite.**

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Prompt: Cross-Dressing


	3. Witch Weekly Exclusive

"Was he worth it?"

Hermione looked up from the _Daily Prophet_ at a smug looking Pansy Parkinson. A frown tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"Excuse me?" she asked politely.

The Houses were all getting interested in the little scene playing out at the Gryffindor table, Pavarti moving over on the bench so she wasn't in the crossfire -- and because she had the best seat to watch the drama unfold.

"Was. He. Worth. It," Pansy repeated slowly, as if speaking to a three year old.

Hermione tilted her head, staring at the pug-nosed girl inquisitorially. "Was who worth it?"

"The coward," spat Pansy. "Draco. Was he worth it?"

More and more people, watching and listening avidly. It was a future _Witch Weekly_ article for sure.

"Why was he a coward?" Hermione asked, frown becoming deeper.

"Because he couldn't kill Dumbledore, of cour --"

Gasps rang out around the Great Hall and Hermione smirked at Pansy's horrified expression, her face paling. She stood up stiffly, the newspaper cracking like a whip as she folded it and the Hall was deathly silent as she stared at Pansy across the table.

"Every second."

**Finite.**

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Prompt: I hope to God he was worth it.


	4. Party at Grimmauld Place

"You're an obsession," Sirius whispered in her ear. "I can't get you out of my head. My body positively aches when you're in the room."

The party swelled around them but none could see them in the Disillusioned corner. She was glad for that. She didn't want anyone to see them and get the wrong idea. Well, actually it would be the right idea as he had her legs around his waist and his hand up her skirt. It felt so good to be right here in viewing distance, Ron's face in her sight as his digits entered her roughly.

"I know," she whispered back, her breath teasing his neck and her eyes on Ron's freckled face. "Are we going to fuck or not?"

"Gods, you're dirty," he moaned. He unbuttoned his trousers quickly, not wanting to lose his chance with her like he had several times before when he was too slow to follow her commands. He didn't want that tonight. He needed her like those Muggles needed drugs because he hadn't had her in four days. Four terrible days.

They both hissed in pleasure as he slowly entered her. She was tight, almost painfully so, and as he began a rhythm, he basked in the feeling as everything but her disappeared. He wanted to crawl inside her and never leave. He wanted to shackle her to his bed and hide her from everyone - especially Ron. To be honest, Sirius just wanted her.

"Fuck." He bucked up into her as she squeezed her cunt around him. _"Fuckfuckfuckfuckgods."_

He set a pounding pace and was glad she was a silent lover as she gasped erotically in his ear. Arms around his neck, she clung to him as he pounded her into the wall though the music covered their frantic coupling. He closed his eyes and when he felt her come around him with a silent moan, he smelled her hair - jasmine and something else - and came so blindingly hard he almost took them to the ground.

Hermione dropped her legs immediately, looking none the worse for wear as she straightened her blouse and skirt. He probably looked like he had been wrought through a tornado as he tucked his cock back into his trousers. He sure as Merlin felt like it.

"Thanks for that. I really needed it."

She ended the Disillusionment charm and smiled at him before taking a sip of her abandoned pumpkin juice and looking around the room in boredom. Sirius was surprised as he leaned against the wall beside her. She had never stayed too long in his presence after one of their shags. He firmly tamped down the hope that sprung up.

"I suppose I should apologize," she said, not looking at him but at Ron with an indescribable look in her brown eyes, "for stealing you from your date."

"Don't mind," he responded gruffly. "Boring anyway."

Hermione snorted and looked at him with amusement. "How nice. You spent five minutes with her in total before coming to shag me. How do you know if she's boring or not?"

_She's not you,_ his brain answered but he shrugged, smirking. She huffed and looked back at the party at Grimmauld Place.

"Remus suspects."

Sirius rubbed his neck with a frown. How did that bloody werewolf know everything?

"I caught him sniffing in my bedroom the other day when he came to get his potion."

"And - and what do you plan on doing?" he asked hesitantly. Was she going to end this _thing_ they had? Or was it just a _thing _for him and not her? Did she really only see him as a way to release stress or get back at Ron?

"Nothing short of Obliviate would stop the man," Hermione said, a grim set to her lips. "And soon he'll tell Tonks - if he hasn't already - then everyone will be watching us." She turned, looking at him while she leaned against the wall. She never acted so casually. Usually she was always ramrod straight. Sirius smirked inwardly. Maybe he was getting to her.

"Guess we'll just have to come out with it."

Sirius gaped at her. She wanted to tell people of their... relationship? She wanted them to know - for Ron to know? She wanted to be with him?

"Your choice, of course," she said when she saw his face, shrugging and putting her back to the wall as she looked at the party once more.

"No, no - Hermione, I want to. I do, really," he said, desperate that she not leave now. Not when he finally had the chance to have her to himself. When he had the chance to prove he _was_ worthy of being something more than a fuck-buddy.

She looked up at him, her eyes unreadable. "Really, Sirius?"

"Yes," he whispered but she heard him just the same.

"Then let's start with a dance. Your date left anyway."

**Finite.**

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Prompt: Obliviate, wall-sex


	5. Unanswered

"What are you doing, Granger?"

Hermione glared and the black-haired boy smirked slightly. Or was it a smile? She couldn't tell any more.

Nor did she want to.

"Quite self-explanatory, don't you think?"

She continued shrinking her clothes and putting them in her beaded purse. She would leave and never would he have to befoul himself with her presence again. She would leave, leave as quickly as she arrived.

Leave to someplace where she knew she was wanted. Where she knew she would be loved.

Not like Riddle loved. No. Never, ever like Riddle loved.

"Granger."

It wasn't a plea or entreaty to stay. It was an order.

"No," she said swiftly and succinctly.

"You're acting like a child," he said, folding his arms across his chest, Head Boy badge glinting dully in the eerie green lighting of the seventh year girls dormitory.

"So?"

She started shrinking her large stack of books, and one by one they went into her purse.

"You're being irrational. You can't go back."

Hermione scoffed, still not looking at the doorway where he was. A presence that terrified her at first, quickly becoming excitement.

And she had thought that maybe…

No. No. She was stupid and foolish and she wasn't Lavender Brown, drooling over some boy and trying to make her dreams, her fantasies, into reality. No. She had tried that once before, thank you very much, and all it had gotten her was a heartache and two extra pounds.

No. Best get out while she could, before she was pulled any further under his spell.

"Thanks for the concern but I can handle myself."

She could _hear_ his teeth grinding, hear the grating almost across the room and she jabbed her wand a little too hard at a book in return, making it shrink to the size of a bread crumb with a _pop_.

"Hermione."

_Oooh. First names now, Tom? _she thought snidely.

"Hermione."

She jumped. He had moved to her side while she was busy thinking sarcastic comments and snide insults and wondering what she would say before she left. Wondering how much she should tell before he was gone forever from her. At least as this Tom Riddle.

He touched her arm, and though it was such a gentle touch, almost a caress, she didn't let herself be pulled into the trap that was Tom Riddle. She jerked her arm away and spun to her wardrobe.

"You're playing with your life."

"So?" she shot back without looking over her shoulder at him. "We have to play with something."

It was all there; all her things, possessions, books, clothes and jewelry -- expensive jewelry he had bought for her. All of it, packed. She was ready to go, ready to head back to the life and time she should be in and not living this shadow of a life.

So why wasn't she moving?

"Her -- Granger, I won't allow you to go back to fight in some war."

She decided what she would tell him. Her hand found its way to her neck, slowly pulling out the long chain.

"I'll see you again, Riddle. I'm sure of it."

And she was gone. Tom Riddle stared at the spot she had disappeared from, his hand still outstretched to grab hold of her before she could spin the hourglass. He stood in the almost barren room that had been so full when she was there, so full of life and energy and laughter and soft caresses under blankets. So full of his Hermione.

A broken whisper filled the room.

"Where did I go wrong?"

**Finite.**

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Prompt: Where did I go wrong?


	6. A Wedding Night

Remember: Nothing is mine, even if I don't always post a disclaimer at the beginning. Also, these are just writing exercises that I use to keep learning new things about the art of writing. They're also a good excuse for procrastination on longer fics, lolz.

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"Stop, stop… mauling me!"

A raised eyebrow. "Mauling you?"

Her cheeks heated a light pink, flushed and full and lower lip trembling as she averted her gaze, embarrassed. "I… It's so fast. Everything's changing."

A soft sigh, a sigh of weariness with the changes in the world that equaled her own. Brown curls tucked behind her ear, a soft kiss to her forehead. "I know, dear. But we'll get through it together. Understand?" He pulled her chin to make her look him in the eyes. "Understand?"

She nodded, a smile faint on her lips before she reached up on tip-toe to kiss him.

A moan, a silence with only the sounds of clothes dropping to the floor, murmured kisses and soft gasps.

"Stop mauling me!"

"I am not mauling you, Remus!"

**Finite.**

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Prompt: Mauling


	7. Green and Silver Wool

The staircase was cold, the air frigid, and the walls damp with what she assumed was moss but could have been anything.

She didn't particularly want to know what else it could be so she kept her eyes averted from the dark stone walls and kept walking, her shoes clicking on the stone staircase and announcing her visit -- expected, thankfully -- to those who waited below.

She had received the anonymous note listing the time and place only the night before, making her visit to Charlie in Romania a near impossible feat that she had to reschedule. He wasn't happy. Neither was she, for that matter. She would rather be in the hot sun with flames bearing down on her and the possibility of getting maimed by an angry Iron Belly than in this cold, dark cellar of the Hog's Head. Anywhere but here.

It wasn't the location that frightened her. No, she had handled far worse during the war. Mazes filled with hissing snakes and jungles filled with eerie screams throughout the night; the freezing howls of the werewolves in the Forbidden Forest; she could handle those. The Sorting Hat had put her in Gryffindor for a reason, and she had faced those nightmares with only a slight tremor. But this… This dank corridor leading to a dimly lit room filled her with an aching fear, one that made sweat bead on her forehead and goosebumps run down her arms.

She can hear whispering from behind the closed wooden door before her, and her hand hovers above the handle as she feels the butterflies in her gut swirling frantically higher, the trembling of their wings echoed in her muscles, beating against her throat and twisting it tight.

The horror of the situation finally blindsides her, making her wish she had thought about this more before she requested membership to the dark and mysterious club.

But Malfoy had dared her to. She either had to accept to prove she was just as good as him, or she would have been seen as weak, incompetent. But as her hand closed around the ice-cold handle, she knew she should have just sacrificed her pride rather than make a fool of herself like this.

And when she had just decided to turn back, Apparate to her flat and take an emergency Portkey to Romania, the door opened and the dim light that had shone under the door made her squint her eyes as her face was painted in stark contrast to the shadows behind her.

The wizard at the door was wearing all black, looking like a modern day Zorro. Not that he would know what that was, seeing as he was a Pureblood. She could feel his eyes on her, burning through her casual jeans and tee-shirt

"Welcome, Hermione," Blaise Zabini said, lips quirking in amusement as he looked at the large bag she was holding, filled to the brim with what she had thought she would need.

"And welcome to the S.K.C."

Her eyes ran over the people behind him. All Slytherins and all known from her years at Hogwarts. She was the first -- and most likely only, Malfoy had said -- Gryffindor to ever be invited to join their ranks.

She looked at the banner above the lit fireplace, the flames flickering shadows over the letters as they crackled merrily in the grate below.

The Slytherin Knitting Club.

And their technique was so much better than hers.

**Finite.**


	8. Quills

Quills. Everywhere she looked, every feather whispering to her, every sharp tip calling to her, beckoning her to try them, touch them, use them, love them.

If there was a wizard heaven, she was surely in it.

She went to the shelf displaying the newest. The best of the best of the quill community. Some were so extraordinary that they were held behind enchanted glass cases. Her fingers edged the glass, wishing instead of the cold pane she was feeling the extra-sharp tip, the black feather.

"I'll take this one."

Special Assistant to the Minister of Magic, Dolores Umbridge smiled.

**Prompt**: Quills.


	9. Not My Daughter

My second-place winning entry from a drabble contest at Hogwarts-Elite at LJ. I do not own HP.

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She didn't know how she could be alive, how she was still living and breathing and fighting for the Order while her son lay dead in another corner of the Great Hall.

Her jokester son had always been far away from her, but now he was beyond scolding and glares, beyond smiles and laughter and beyond the tears that tracked her cheeks.

Beyond _her._

The Great Hall was in chaos. Hogwarts and the Order still fighting though their savior was dead. A flash of red hair caught her attention, along with the harsh laughter. Ginny. Bellatrix.

Her jaw clenched.

_Fred._

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**Prompt over at Hogwarts-Elite:** For this drabble the subject will be pain. This could be physical, emotional, or even spiritual pain. You drabble must revolve around the influction or feeling of pain in some manner. The main character cannot be someone from Harry Potter's generation.

I suggest everyone to go get sorted and join Hogwarts-Elite over at LJ.

xx Jess


	10. A Real Gryffindor

Prompt: Neville Longbottom

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Neville was far from the ideal, Hannah thought. He mumbled, for starters, and possessed the uncanny ability to stick his foot in his mouth at the worst possible times.

But when he _was_ good at something, he was _very _good.

Hannah blushed and firmly told herself to focus on her paperwork. Yes, she scolded, he was kind, brave in an unspoken way—unlike other Gryffindors who loudly proclaimed they were brave and expected everyone to believe it, Neville said nothing and actually _was_—and he was the most humble—

_Oh, sod it all!_ She sat back and smiled and smiled.


	11. Toil & Trouble

Prompt: A black cat, broomstick, and cranberries. From h_e LDWS.

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Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, looked nothing like a witch. She had arrived on their doorstep by walking off the street—not a midnight broomstick ride, had no black cat at her side, and looked like she would rather eat her tartan plaid hat than dance under a full moon in her altogether.

She didn't look inclined to cackle over cauldrons or sing in rhymes, either, though later she would overhear her dad tell her mum that Professor McGonagall was tart enough to spit cranberries.

All in all, Hermione Granger, witch, liked her immediately.


	12. Ordinary

Prompt: Vernon Dursley From h_e LDWS.

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Petunia Dursley saw the baby first. The sound the milk bottles made when they hit the ground alerted Vernon. Her eyes were painfully dry as she read the letter attached to it. Her heart gave one sharp clench for her sister and then it was done. All that was left were the preparations.

Ordinary didn't include the words magic or Dark Lords. Normal had no place for blood protection.

Ordinary was secure. She reached over and was comforted when Vernon squeezed her hand tightly. Petunia held no love for Extraordinary.

She hated that Lily had pushed it onto her again.


End file.
